The Sunken Garden

The tree's boughs swung in the gentle December breeze. Many a time had it been agitated by the gales of the north, but this day was quiet. The short daylight hours of winter were drawing to a close. Old autumn leaves rustled along the path leading past the tree. There had been another one, but it had succumbed to a January storm, some fifteen years previous. Memories stretched back further, of laughter, children playing in its shadows, the summer sun beaming down. Not this day, when the sun would barely reach the little feature over which the tree towered. These last couple of years, it had been recovered from wild and unfettered growth of plants and trees. Soon, a sundial would keep time and plants were due to be added in an orderly fashion. The paths led a couple of dozen yards in the direction of the woodland beyond, almost looking like the Greek letter ψ. However, the work was not yet complete. A small figure began to approach the tree. She walked slowly, aided by two sticks and two other people. Her white head stood out amongst the shadows under the tree. Looking around, the memories crowded round, of yesteryear, with young children laughing, having fun. She stopped by the tree and glanced at the garden which was still being worked on. An improvement. Gingerly turning round, she glanced up at the tree, its boughs gently swaying above her. Perhaps subliminally talking of past visits. Darkness almost imperceptibly deepened. She sighed and made to turn round, supported by the sticks and her companions. Slowly, she disappeared from sight. From the Sunken Garden. From the monkeypuzzle tree.

I was there, that day in December 2019. She had just been told of a life-ending illness, and this was her last visit to the Castle Grounds. Many lasts were to follow, and the end came the following October.

When I visit the Castle Grounds now, it is rare for me not to visit the Sunken Garden. I stop by the monkeypuzzle tree and look past the sundial. And I remember.